Halfwit
by Tregetry
Summary: Stan gets a concussion, Kyle takes care of him. Stan and Kyle admit feelings for each other, and Cartman catches them in a compromising situation, and Stan becomes Cartman's slave.


Twelve years of experience in school sports, and Stan Marsh found himself lying motionless on the basketball court. The world around him wavered whenever he opened his eyes, so of course, he kept them closed, to avoid getting dizzy and throwing up like he did when he was younger. He heard this odd buzzing in the back of his head, and a million people sounding like Kenny tried to reach him. He imagined himself bringing his hand to his forehead, but couldn't find the strength to do so. He had a fairly decent imagination, though, so doing so calmed his nerves a bit.

"Dude! Duude! You okay?" he finally managed to make out from the scramble of voices.

Stan had no intention of opening his eyes right then. He felt himself being carried out of the court by his arms, and gently dropped down onto some thin, cold polished wood thing.

"Stan? You alright, dude?" it was the same voice from earlier.

"Kyle?" Stan whispered.

"You're alright!" Kyle yelled.

"Ow…ow…" Stan muttered, this time bringing his hand to pinch his nose for real.

"Sorry," Kyle whispered.

Stan felt the welcome tendrils of sleep trying to pull him in, so he began to ignore Kyle as the boy went through an explanation of what happened.

"Stan!" Kyle shouted. The bastard.

"What the fuck, dude?!" Stan shrieked under his breath.

"Dude, you have a concussion. If you go to sleep, you'll never wake up."

"I don't fucking care."

Stan lay on the bench, trying to fall asleep. He got really close, of course, until a fall of water landed on him. It was, of course, freezing cold.

"I hate you, man."

"Sure you do. Now stay awake. Coach wanted me to keep you awake since the nurse isn't here today."

"Whatever. Just be quiet, alright? It hurts."

"Okay, as long as you stay awake. Sit up, so I can make sure."

"I can fall asleep sitting up, you know."

"Fine, then…then open your eyes, I'll go turn off a few lights so it's not so fluorescently bright in here."

"Sure…you go do that."

Kyle had gone off to the front of the locker room where all the light switches were. Stan, in the mean time, made use of this small freedom to crawl onto the floor where it wasn't so likely he'd do more damage to his head. He then proceeded to curling up into the fetal position for more resistance against the painfully cold floor and closing his eyes once again.

"Jesus Christ, Stan, wake up!"

"Ahmup…"

Kyle sighed. What would Brian Boitano do to keep Stan awake?

Kyle left Stan for a few moments, hoping the boy wouldn't be able to kill himself within two minutes of being gone. After reaching into his Jew pouch for a dollar, he inserted it into the beverage dispenser and got a Rockstar.

"Hey, Stan…drink this," Kyle said, somewhat softly, to Stan as he lifted his friend's head.

Stan was at that point on his journey to Sleepyland where he wasn't quite there, but quite willing to do many things. One of these things was drinking a beverage blindly.

Of course, after drinking the Rockstar, he found himself very alert, within only minutes. This was, of course, due to his concussion, which caused certain chemicals to interact with longstanding brain cells and kill them. His drive to sleep quickly dissipated and he sat alert, grinning from ear to ear, and twitching.

"Duuude! You're acting like Tweak!" Kyle laughed.

Stan did nothing to disprove that theory, as he went on a small but extraordinarily fast-paced rant about absolutely nothing relevant.

"Dude, give me something to do!" Stan twitched, his hands idly playing with each other.

"Um…okay…run around the locker room," Kyle said the first thing he could come up with.

So Stan did. Eventually, he lost his concentration on that and asked for something new to do. So the two dug out some weights and Kyle helped Stan lift them, to burn off all this excessive energy. Most of the way into the period, they finally burnt off almost all of the Rockstar energy Kyle had given Stan, but thankfully kept enough so that Stan would stay awake. Of course, both boys were very sweaty at this time and decided they'd shower, before the other boys came in. The reason for this was quite simple: Cartman would be his usual idiotic self and do some inane and stupid thing that would render Stan dead, and neither of the boys really wanted that to happen. Thus, they showered together. It wasn't anything unusual for the boys.

Not really. They showered together five times a week, sometimes more. Kyle was used to keeping his eyes above chest level, used to quelching many thoughts that danced through his mind whenever he was alone with Stan. And Stan was of course used to keeping his feelings for Kyle discreet.

Except that Stan had a concussion. And certain things he'd known for years seemed to have fallen out of his brain when that basketball hit him on the head. Things like the fact that he and Kyle were super best friends, and nothing more.

Yep.

So, Stan, lost with his concussion, ran the facts through his mind. Kyle was taking care of him when he'd fallen. Kyle was a rather attractive looking guy. Kyle kept looking at him funny. Kyle kept giving him this weird sensation…

"Kyle, you're the best boyfriend a guy could have."

"What?!"

"You…you're my boyfriend, right?"

"Jesus Christ!"

Kyle quickly spun the shower off and grabbed a towel. He wrapped it around himself, and then shoved one into Stan's hands as well. His hair seemed brown compared to the color of Kyle's cheeks. Kyle tripped as he walked to the bench near his locker, and sat down before he lost his balance.

"Stan, I'm not your boyfriend," Kyle said, after he regained his composure. Or at least some of it.

"But…but you were giving me this look and you were taking care of me, and um…well, I thought…"

"Stan, we're just super best friends, okay?"

"Shit…well, that's really embarrassing. I'm sorry."

"Dude..."

They were silent for a while. Eventually, Stan got up and began to dress. He began mulling over what he could remember, whatever escaped the mighty blow of the basketball.

Kyle, on the other hand, was still lost in those words. Silly they were, but words he wished were true. He was such a fag.

"Wait…Stan, why'd you think we were…um…boyfriends?"

"Well…you were taking care of me, and…and…you were giving me that look…and…"

"What look?"

"It's like…um…" Stan tried to mock it, but he failed miserably. "Whatever, it's not important. And…well…I…"

Stan gulped. He was suffering an attack of vomit which he had to stifle. Crap. This always used to happen when he was around Wendy Testaburger. At least he remembered something.

"I felt a certain tension, yeah. I thought it was because we were going out."

"You mean…you had…have…feelings…for me?"

"Er…am I not supposed to?"

That's right. He wasn't. He and Kyle were super best friends, and nothing more. Shit…he just confessed he had a crush on Kyle. To Kyle. Shit. He was about to put his hand on his face again when something else found itself there.

Kyle was kissing him. And Kyle was only wearing a towel. Shit, he shouldn't have thought about that. At least Stan was in boxers, but he'd just been about to button his pants, so they sort of hung off his butt at this point in time.

The bell rang, and the other boys began to filter in. Neither of the two were thinking well enough beyond their lusty attachment to realize the entire boys section of the gym class was about to waltz in and see them. And being that he never liked gym, Cartman was going to be the first one inside.

The two remembered all this as soon as Eric Cartman's thundering footsteps echoed through the locker room. This prompted them to quickly separate and gain some form of decency.

Now, if the boys had been nonchalant about the whole business, Cartman's queer radar would not have gone off. But he happened to walk in on them in very compromising positions. Kyle, for instance, had nothing on. At all. And he held a towel to his chest almost like a girl would if she had been in the same instance. Stan, on the other hand, was just pulling up his pants, which didn't look at all innocent. The two looked like deer in headlights and the truck coming their way was the biggest monster this side of hell.

Cartman stared. And stared. And a smile formed on his lips. It grew, and grew, until it seemed as if that huge mouth of his was taking over his entire face. He chuckled to himself, and then rolled on the floor.

"They're fags! They're fucking faaags! Eh-heh-hee-hee!" He revived himself from the floor just for a few moments. "Kyle and Stan, sitting on a bench, F-U-C-K-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes anal, then comes Satan to retrieve their souls! That's not all, that's not all, Saddam's having an orgy and inviting them all!"

"That's brilliant, fat ass, real smart," Kyle muttered, as he tried to get some clothes on before the others walked in.

"Oh my god, you gays, I'm gonna tell the whole world about this! Everyone's gonna know about what fuckin' fags you are!"

"Cartman! Don't!" Kyle sputtered.

"Cartman, please!" Stan begged.

"Stan and Kyle are fags!" he mused. He went on, gloating like this for a while. Some of the other boys were only a few feet away from the locker rooms, and Stan could feel the pressure already.

"Cartman, I'll do anything! Just don't tell anyone, okay?" Stan pleaded.

"Anythang?"

"No, Stan, don't do it!" Kyle warned.

"He can't be that bad, can he?" Stan muttered after seeing the look of horror in Kyle's eyes.

"I want you to be my slave for the rest of the year."

"No!" Kyle interjected. Cartman ignored him, and his beady little eyes bore into Stan. Stan gulped, calmed himself, and spoke.

"Alright. Fine. But you can't tell anyone, and you can't put me in a situation where I'll die, okay?"

"Damnit! Fine. Agreed."

Cartman danced into the showers, singing to himself. Kyle looked as if he had just made the deal with Cartman. Stan rubbed his head, wishing the pain of his concussion would go away. They stood there, slowly dressing, and in a constant state of thoughtfulness as the rest of the boys filed in. The other boys had showered, dressed, and filed out of the dressing room, leaving only Kyle and Stan, still in their ponderous moods. They finally grabbed their bags and wandered out. Cartman was waiting for them. Before they reached him, Kyle squeezed Stan's hand reassuringly.

"Dude, you are so fucked," Kyle sighed.


End file.
